


Wet and Scarred

by brodylover



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Agender Character, Angst, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: I wanted to write some porn, just something simple, and I got sad instead.Please, I'm so sorry for former fics that I'm afraid to read my comments. My brain has been absolutely terrible for the past few months and I can barely write my own works, not to mention long fics.





	Wet and Scarred

The Weald was a dangerous place but so was the hamlet for things such as this. Kenhel had his hands planted on the Anarin’s narrow hips, used them to push the thin frame against one of the gnarled and web heavy trees. A month ago this would have been impossible, not only because of the terrible swarms of insects and monstrosities, but because of Anarin’s own terrors and insecurities. Any hard hand had left them a quivering, apologetic mass, begging forgiveness for a slight they had not committed. It had taken words, more than Kenhel was comfortable with speaking, to even get them this far.

Now the fear was in leaving the hamlet for so long, in the threat that the others may think that Anarin was up to something, corrupting him. Kenhel didn’t have to say that he was already corrupted, that Anarin had nothing to do with that. Regardless, they had not gone so far into The Weald that they were completely hidden, if any of their companions cared enough to look, they would be found.

Now it was only the light from the hamlet and the moon itself that gave them light, yellow and white in turn. Kenhel ran his hands down the other’s skin, bare and scarred, worse than the rest of them, aside the newcomer, whose skin still bled with the bite of his own whip. Anarin licked their lips, stared up at the moon, and shivered at Kenhel’s touch, but did nothing to stop it.

Kenhel kept his expression pleased and calm, knowing the attention brought on his features, knowing how the briefest shift in emotion could push Anarin away. As he pulled down the scarf he wore around his face, he knew that Anarin’s stare was that of a being taken in a secret, not that of someone full of judgment or scorn. Kenhel kept his face hidden from most of the others, didn’t dare to eat around them unless it was absolutely necessary, and they had all been taken aback by his deformity. Anarin, on the other hand, had just tilted their head, asked why Kenhel hid it, and smiled as such torn lips were pressed against their own.

When Kenhel pushed up, onto the balls of his feet to kiss Anarin, their lips parted softly, and their eyes closed, all tension falling from them. The kiss that they returned was odd, somewhat off balanced, and always left something tucked away, as if they were restraining themself as much as they did that thing that hid under their skin. It was something new to them, as much as most everything else that came with freedom.

His hands continued to wander, over the ribs that threatened to poke out through the skin, along the shoulder with its deeply pulsing veins, gently skirting around the cold metal of the manacles. He could feel Anarin tense and relax in intervals, nails turn to claws to dig into the bark when they thought the pressure would change to something else.

It was too soon. Asking for what he wanted would do nothing but scare Anarin away. Revealing himself in all of his own horrid glory would raise questions and pain and he would be pushed away. He knew this and still, the exposed fingers poking through his glove slid over Anarin’s pert nipple, and he fell into a terrible need. His need may have been small enough to fit in a thimble, but his desire was as deep as the endless halls of the damnable dungeon on the hill. He wanted Anarin, wanted their sex between his lips, between his legs. He wanted to know what the other tasted like, felt like, wondered how thick and full he would feel if Anarin changed inside of him.

As far as Kenhel knew, Anarin had no thoughts on this matter.

They kissed until Kenhel’s legs grew tired and Anarin chased him with their lips as he fell back to the less than firm ground. There was a slick smear of moisture between his legs and a heat traveling through him, something that pushed that urge, advanced his lust for Anarin.

He wondered if he should ask, but words were not something he was well versed in, and he was far more used to demanding for what he wanted instead of asking. He had gone years before with nothing but his own hand to bring him pleasure, as he would not stoop so low as to let the other bandits touch him in many manners. That was when he wasn’t around someone like this though, someone who made him feel like, perhaps, he was indeed deserving of the redemption he had come to this hellish place to find.

A hand on their shoulder, Kenhel pulled back, breathed, tried to push down the begging heat that hid inside of his trousers. But when he looked down, sighed, tried to clear his mind, he caught sight of the abomination’s own desire, the outline of it illuminated in the pale light.

He licked his lips, eyeing it, curious if the skills he’d held in his youth were still in his possession. He ran a hand through Anarin’s hair, who did not seem distracted by their own plight, the bulging indecency that gave them away. Either they didn’t want Kenhel to know of it, or they didn’t know of it themself.

Kenhel surged upward once more but now, instead of going for their lips, they went for their ear red from the cold of exposure, not protected by the thick dark hair currently tangled in Kenhel’s hand.

“I want you.” he hissed, falling once more to his usual height.

He wasn’t sure of the expression on Anarin’s face. They had a way of hiding their feelings, if they thought they would upset those nearby. It sometimes took a great amount of ale to learn what they were thinking. This though, was a bit of surprise, a shimmer of trepidation, and something between hope and joy, as if they weren’t sure that they had heard correctly but if they had, they were extremely pleased for it.

“And you have me,” they replied, voice quiet as a whisper, but steady and deep and kind. Almost too kind. So much of them could be claimed as too damaged and too kind. “what you do with me is your own choice.”

The last of it made him shudder. He did not know much of what had happened before Anarin had showed up at the hamlet, without property or name, just a burning desire to do something with themself, something good. All he knew was that the scar over their face was not that of a battle, but of a branding iron, and that they feared the beast inside of them as much as the rest of them did.

Kenhel brushed that aside and took a step closer, so they could breath one another in, feel the come and go of one another’s chests, share in each other’s warmth. It was a cool night and Anarin had no clothing of their own and denied all acts of charity that were presented to them. The pants that they wore were several sizes too large and fastened with a length of rope, the blanket wrapped around their shoulders, something that they seemed to love and abhor in equal measure.

“I mean,” Kenhel chuckled, “I want you inside me.”

Their eyes went wide and then slackened, expression turning to pity, of all things. “Why would you want such a thing? You have done nothing to deserve that.”

At first he thought he should be wounded, that the carnal company of another would be denied him based on his own tarnished soul. But that was not the intent. It was in their voice, in their face, in the way that they suddenly tensed, tried to pull away in such a way that it wouldn’t be noticed, that the intention was different. Carnal pleasures were not as such for Anarin, but something so terrible that Kenhel wished to know everything and nothing all at once.

His hand went from the soft hair to Anarin’s jaw, as thin as the rest of them, with stubble that scratched ad poked at the leather of his glove.

“Sex isn’t bad. It shouldn’t be, anyway.”

Anarin would not look at him. They looked everywhere, at the moon, their own bare feet, but not at him. He turned Anarin’s face towards him, pulled them down just enough, and lay their foreheads together. Like this, it was almost impossible for them to look away. Only by closing their eyes were they able to avoid eye contact.

“I won’t ask. You can tell me when you want to. Just, let me show you?”

Anarin tried to pull away, but their hands were in Kenhel’s clothes, hands twisting the leather of his coat. They wanted away and they wanted closer and they didn’t know which one was right. There was so much uncertainty in Anarin, so much rolling over, they didn’t know how to fend for themself on an emotional level.

“I am afraid. Not only of what it has been but for you. I do not want to hurt you.” Anarin sighed, pressing their face into Kenhel’s hand, “The other abominations… I have seen them, been with them, and there is no lacking of pain.”

“Trust me.” Kenhel forced a smile, trying to ease them, “We’ll go slow. If you wish to.”

“I do.” Anarin bit their lip, muscles tense and quivering. “I want to please you, I want to do what you say is not as I have been shown, I want to experience life as it should be instead of as it has been. But you must understand that when I think of such things as these all I can imagine is what I already know.”

Kenhel nodded. It was why he had come here, after all. The hamlet was supposed to be where they could come to start fresh, to forget their own sins and become something better.

A few steps and they were back against the tree and now, Kenhel’s hands were even softer, his eyes tracing every change in Anarin’s expression. He wanted to know more about their past, wanted to know who had broken them so terribly, and he wanted to make them all pay for it. He hadn’t desired the blood of anyone so desperately before. He was certain though, that they deserved his wrath.

Anarin’s quivering turned to quaking and Kenhel paused, his hands on the other’s soft stomach. “Tell me when to stop.”

Anarin did not respond, aside from breathing, taking in deep breaths, trying to settle the nerves that have been kicked up in conversation. He hoped that this would not push them away, ruin what it is that they have. Eventually they nodded, and Kenhel continued.

The knot was no difficulty to untie but, as the pants fell to the soft earth, what he saw he knew would be quite a difficulty in itself. Anarin’s member wasn’t even fully erect yet, had softened in conversation, but even then it was of surprising size and shape. It curved wildly to the left, the skin a deep brown color, decorated in branching veins.

Kenhel’s hand swam around it, not touching the shaft, but their thighs, scratching at the thick mound of hair that threatened to climb up their stomach. He leaned forward and kissed at their chest and neck until they were able to snap out of their panic enough to lean down, kiss him once more, try to relax.

He would not hurt them. He would not give them a reason to fear. He was going to destroy whoever had made them so distraught.

He slowly went to his knees, glad for the thickness of his trousers and the bounciness of the moss beneath him. He wetted his lips, hand leaving their thighs and traveling to the base of their erection. He look up at them, hoping that his intent reached them, stroking their cock gently, seeing the way that it clung to their pelvis.

They put a hand over their mouth, either to hide or to stifle their own voice he wasn’t sure. He wanted to hear their voice, the soft panting, the desperate whines, maybe even some uncontrolled moans or begging for more of what he has to give them.

He pulled their erection away from their hips and held it firm, seeing the reddened tip poking out from the folds of foreskin. He licked his lips again. It had been so long since he’d done this. He opened his mouth, just barely wide enough, and pressed the head against his lips. Only when Anarin looked at him, made eye contact, did he swallow them down.

He started slowly enough, mouth lax as he rocked forward and back, seeing if he could bring it in deeper with each attempt. Every few thrusts he would glance up, find Anarin shaking and gasping, trying to keep silent, their eyes squeezed shut. He wished that they would watch him, remember who it is down beneath them.

Still, eyes shut weren’t the worst thing. He was able to snake one hand down into his own trousers, slide his fingers through his slick and rub at his own, much smaller, erection. He started to bob faster, deeper, and hollowed out his cheeks. He’d missed the feeling of his mouth being filled, the scratching burning sensation in his throat as he took it too deep, the taste of sweat and precum.

Anarin shuddered and cursed and, when he looked, found them scratching deep into the bark at their back. It was too soon. They were ready to climax but it was too soon. Kenhel took the nub of his erection between his fingers, jerked it hard and fast, pressing it flush with the wet flesh around it as he pushed Anarin’s hip back towards the tree with the other. He held them there, making sure that they wouldn’t keep thrusting as he pulled off, slow, not meaning to jar them.

Their eyes opened and their hand dropped from their mouth. Instead of demanding him to stop, they looked about the opposite, pupils wide for more than just the darkness.

Kenhel licked and swirled his tongue around their member, swallowing it roughly every once in a while, feeling his own tension rise. Anarin squirmed, wanting to push, wanting to finish, but Kenhel needed to catch up. He worshiped the erection before him, like the vestal with her scripture, his tongue as good as hers in their own forms of depraved prayer.

He could feel the throbbing, the point just before he came over the edge, and he quickly swallowed the length of flesh once more, bringing it as deep as he could into his mouth, Anarin hissing above him. He resumed his sucking, faster now, keeping his mouth tight and his teeth back.

Anarin’s teeth were gritted, their back arched, and their arm swollen, veins green and writhing beneath the skin. Kenhel continued, mentally urging them to come with him.

His orgasm came as a rifling tremor, muscles locking up as his sensitivity burst, any touch afterwards an aching burn. He moaned around the member in his mouth, the vibration apparently all Anarin needed to push them over the edge as well.

They came beautifully, head tossed back, hair cascading on one side. At this angle it was almost impossible to see the damage done to their face. The tendons in their neck stood out strongly as they gasped, jaw dropped, dry and rasping sounds following their completion.

Bitter, salty warmth flooded Kenhel’s mouth and he swallowed it greedily, wishing for more. He wanted to swallow down Anarin’s ejaculate until his jaw ached as badly as his still half hardened nub.

Kenhel pulled off with a pop and Anarin shuddered, legs shaking. They slid down the tree, joining both Kenhel and a small pile of wood shavings. Their chest heaved, their orgasm so strong it seemed that they had done more work than Kenhel had.

“And?” he asked, his voice a bit more hoarse than before.

“And,” Anarin fell forward, laying their head upon Kenhel’s shoulder, pressing soft, loose kisses against his bared throat. Even here the disfigurement of his scar marred him. “that was good. That was… that was amazing, in fact. I didn’t know that that was a thing, that you could do it with a mouth, and it was fantastic. I think… I think I would like to see more of what you have to show me.”

With the aftertaste of Anarin’s spend still on his tongue, he tipped their head up and kissed them, heady and full. He couldn’t wait to show them more. Even the things that he feared himself, the things that no one in the hamlet knew of, he would show Anarin gladly.


End file.
